I used to be a total white-collar type and when I was, I crafted more mission statements than I care to remember. So shortly after the triplets were born, just for kicks and giggles, I crafted one for the institution of parenthood. After all, if I had a mission statement as a financial services wholesaler, why not have one as a father, right?

The other day, I wondered if I was the only dork who ever thought it’d be neat to have a parental mission statement, so I bounced the concept off of some of my fellow writers at Babble. And I have to tell you, I was surprised at the reaction. Not just the number of people who came back with a mission statement of their own, but also of the caliber of said statements.

So this week’s effort at Babble involves those mission statements. Check them out by clicking HERE.

The circle of life. We’re born dependent, then become independent, often encumbered with a few dependents of our own about the same time the once-independent people who ushered us to our independence become dependent upon us. Kinda confusing, but not as confusing as why I ever thought that puka-bead necklace I’m wearing in the above picture was a good look. Because it wasn’t.

You know what I did the other day? Marched into my library, dusted off Dante’s Divine Comedy and gave it a quick spin. Okay. No I didn’t. I don’t even have a library. Plus, the only Dante whose words I’ve ever read is former University of Tennessee football standout Donte Stallworth. And he spells his name with an “o,” so that doesn’t even count. Not that it’d count if he spelled it with an “a” because I doubt Donte Stallworth ever broke down the seven deadly sins like Dante…Dante did. (Dante’s last name? Anyone?)

Anyway, you know about the seven deadly sins, right? PEG LAWS? Pride, Envy, Gluttony, Lust, Avarice, Wrath and Sloth. Forget for a moment that I’m not entirely sure what “avarice” means and instead consider the following: there are seven deadly sins of fatherhood, too. That’s right. Being a dad carries its own PEG LAWS which you should try your best to avoid. You do know about them, right? Well, just in case, here they are starting with P:

[find out what the PEG LAWS of fatherhood are over at BabbleVoices by clicking HERE. One of them may or may not involve Don Ho at a rave.]

It’s raining outside, just as it has been for much of the month. Only this night, it’s really dumping, angry hurtful pellets slapping against my sweat-soaked flesh as I dash ungracefully from the gym to my car. Once behind the wheel, the steam from my body counteracts whatever modest progress the defrost is making, a humid mess I am, not only affected by the high pressure system outside, but also, apparently, by the one from within.

Hard to believe that 2011 is coming to a close. Okay, no it’s not. That’s just something people say. It’s hard to believe that summer’s already here. Or, I can’t believe you’re such a big boy already. Why is it that people have such a hard time believing that time passes us by? It’s so utterly…believable.

Even so, there are times which strike me as more profound than others. And the end of the year is one such time, possibly because it’s such a natural period of reflection. Which is exactly why I decided to make my final post of 2011 a reflective one.

With five kids, Caroline and I are no rookies when it comes to gifts. In fact, we’ve got it down to a science, both playing different but vital roles in the gift-giving process. Caroline is the catalyst for all things gift related, often recognizing gifting opportunities which I never even knew existed.

For example, I never knew that existing children are to receive a gift from a newborn baby. Well, until Caroline informed me of such when the triplets were born, that is. But by the time Grand Finale came around, I had forgotten all about this strange custom. (Southern thing? Or do all y’all do it, too?)

But Caroline hadn’t forgotten, which explained the four random gifts I found in the laundry room the week before our youngest was born. And that’s when I played my vital role.

Well, fight might be a bit strong. Because my lovely wife and I don’t really fight. We bicker. But the romantic getaway part is right on the money. Because that’s exactly what we had on the books. A romantic getaway. We need a break, y’all. Alone. Away from our five offspring and their various demands.

See, I’m a trickle-down guy. I genuinely believe that my number one earthly commitment isn’t to my children, but rather to my wife. Before all you helicopter-types gasp in indignation, ponder this:

It began innocently enough. A rainy Labor Day had my family trapped inside our home. Until, that is, general fussiness compelled us to brave the elements al a the divide-and-conquer method. Our oldest was invited to see a movie with a friend, so she was all set. My wife then announced that she would take our infant boy and toddler girl over to my mother-in-law’s place. So I followed suit by announcing that I, along with my toddler boys, would embark upon a “guys outing.”

So, again, we’ve got some serious rain to deal with, what with the remnants of Tropical Storm Lee making its way up from the Gulf, so in planning our “guys outing,” staying dry was a must. Which is why I decided we’d make our manly way to the… mall. I know. Totally testicular. But, hey, they’ve got a parking garage and the kids love the food court, so there you go.